


More Than Best Friends

by sailorgreywolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf
Summary: A series of drabbles I have written about the relationship between Mexico and Cuba. They are all historical and in roughly chronological. The series of snapshots follow them from childhood friendship to romantic feelings.This is related to Legacy, my story about Mexico's life.





	1. Chapter 1

The room was darkened, and Cuba had to be careful not to knock over anything so that he would not wake New Spain. He walked over to the bedside and sat down in the chair there.  
He heard his new friend whimper as he took the cool cloth from his forehead and dipped it back into the cold water. Cuba felt sorry for the little boy, he had gotten so sick in the last couple days. The fever was burning through New Spain’s little body. Cuba remembered that he had also gotten very sick upon exposure to Spain. He remembered it being bleak and lonely to not know anyone, to struggle with the language, and to feel like his body was dying. He did not want New Spain to feel that same despair, so he was waiting on him as well as he could.  
  
Spain had not asked him to; Spain had wanted to assign servants to nurse New Spain. There were still servants who came to the room from time to time, but Cuba was only one who stayed consistently.  
  
He found the little Aztec boy so fascinating. Stories had come back to Madrid about the kingdom Spain had encountered on the mainland. They had all been exaggerations of barbarity and riches, but Cuba had not been certain what was true and what was not. He had thought Aztec’s son would be imposing and stern. He had not expected a little boy with a sweet smile and big innocent eyes. Cuba had already found himself caring deeply for his little friend. It was impossible to dislike someone so sweet.  
  
As he placed the cloth back on New Spain’s forehead, the other’s eyes fluttered open, and a very small smile turned up the corners of his lips. He said, still tripping over the unfamiliar language, “You’re still here.”  
  
Cuba had been there when New Spain had fallen asleep and he had watched the last fitful hour of sleep because he did not want to be gone when New Spain woke up. He couldn’t help but smile back, and he said, “Do you feel any better?”  
  
New Spain bit his lower lip like and Cuba felt for a moment like the boy was thinking about whether he could say what was on his mind. He didn’t want any sort of fear between them. He would not tell Spain if a scared child said something that he was not supposed to say. He said, “You can say it. I won’t tell anyone.”  
  
He felt a pang of unhappiness at the thought that New Spain did not trust him yet, but he reminded himself that they had only known each other for a short time. New Spain seemed to believe him, because he said, speaking slowly to find the right words in Spanish, “I feel so alone.”  
  
The words sent a cold spike straight through Cuba’s heart. He was trying so hard to be there for the other, so that he knew he was not alone. But, before he could ask what more he could do, New Spain continued with his thought, the pauses between his words still painfully long, “I have never slept alone. My Mama-“  
  
Tears came to his eyes and he didn’t finish what he was saying. But, Cuba understood what he was trying to say. He was lonely because he had no one to hold him and make him feel better.  
That, at least, he could remedy. There was no danger of him catching the sickness that New Spain was suffering, because he had already been ill when he had arrived. Without a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I’ll hold you if you want.” The other shook his head, “You’ll get sick.” Cuba said immediately, “No, I won’t. I can’t be sick like that again.”  
  
New Spain nodded and pulled back his blankets so that the space next to him was open. Cuba laid down next to him, so that he was looking directly into the other’s wide gold eyes. He reached up and adjusted the wet cloth that had almost fallen off New Spain’s head when he had turned it to look at Cuba.  
  
The smile returned to New Spain’s face and he spoke again, “I’ve never met another boy like me. Where are you from?”Cuba thought about how to explain it without a map to a person who would be confused by anything more than limited Spanish. He settled on saying, “I am an island in the ocean. I am close to you. It’s a short boat ride from your home.”  
  
The other’s smile widened even further, and the sight made Cuba smile back. He felt the smaller boy put his arm carefully around him, still hesitant. But, it was very warm, and Cuba felt the warmth go straight to his heart. New Spain said, “Then we are neighbors! What is it like here?”  
  
Cuba answered as honestly as he could, though he was not sure what he could say to be comforting, “It is not bad. It is very different from home, but you will get used to it.”  
New Spain nodded and pulled himself even closer. Cuba couldn’t tell if he had made the worry any better, but he liked the feeling of having the other holding onto him. New Spain said, tiredness slipping into his voice, “Will you be my friend?”  
  
Cuba nodded and put one of his arms around New Spain’s little shoulders to pull him closer. The other looked up at him, his eyes big and earnest, and said, “Do you promise you always will be?” Cuba was about to assure New Spain that they would always be friends when the other said, “Mama said only bad people lie and break promises.”  
  
Cuba pulled him even closer so he would feel secure and said, “I promise we will always be friends.” New Spain smiled as he closed his eyes again and murmured as he fell back to sleep, “Thank you.”  
  
As Cuba looked down at the little boy holding his feverish body against him, and he felt a profound need to help and protect this innocent child. He stroked his hair, which was wet with sweat, and hoped that the fever would break soon, so they could have fun together.

* * *

  
New Spain shook Cuba awake and said in his heavily accented Spanish, “Carlos, the sky is falling!”  
  
Cuba was groggy and the words made very little sense. How could the sky be falling? He said, sleep still heavy in his voice, “It isn’t.” New Spain shook him again, this time with more force. He was wide awake and there was nothing Cuba could do to get him to go away. New Spain said, “Come see!”  
  
With a groan, Cuba let the smaller boy pull him to the window. He wiped sleep out of his eyes and looked out to see what was so apocalyptic. Outside the window, snow was floating gentle down, and a layer had already settled on the ground.  
  
He said, still attempting to wake up, “That’s just snow, Ale.” New Spain looked confused and his eyes were wide, “What is ‘snow’?”  
  
Cuba took a moment to realize that his friend had only been in Madrid for a few months and had never seen winter. He remembered that winter back home in the Americas had been wet, not cold. He searched for the right words to explain and managed to say, “It’s like rain, but cold.”New Spain looked doubtful, but he finally said, “Can we go touch it?” Cuba felt the infectious wonder and he smiled at the other, “Only if you get dressed first.”  
  
It took little time for New Spain to pull on clothing and rush to the nearest door to the outside, with Cuba following on his heels. He knew that New Spain was not wearing enough clothing for the cold, but he was impossible to stop.  
  
Cuba had no choice but to follow the boy and make sure he didn’t get himself in trouble. But as they reached the door, an all too familiar voice spoke behind them, “Stop.” New Spain turned with fear in his eyes to face Spain. The man who controlled both of them walked towards them imperiously.  
  
When he reached them, Spain kneeled down in front of New Spain, and said, “You will get sick if you go out there dressed like that.” He pulled a fur-lined coat that Cuba had not noticed he was holding over New Spain’s shoulders. Then Spain kissed New Spain softly on the forehead before saying, “Now you may go outside.” As he watched, Cuba felt one of Spain’s servants put a coat over his shoulders to.  
  
New Spain rushed to the door and pulled it open. Cuba followed him out. He wasn’t about to miss his friend seeing the snow for the first time. New Spain was shivering as soon as he was outside. But, he bounded to the nearest snow and stuck both hands in it.  
  
Cuba waited for a moment until New Spain recoiled like it had burned him. Cuba laughed, “I told you it was cold!”New Spain turned to him and said, placing unnecessary emphasis on every word, “It is the coldest thing I have ever felt!”  
  
Unable to contain himself, Cuba let out another, louder laugh. New Spain ruffled, offended by being laughed at. He retaliated by reaching down and grabbing a whole handful of snow, which he then threw at Cuba.

* * *

  
Cuba walked back from one of his many lessons. It was miserable to spend time in a room with an overbearing priest who did not accept how quickly he was learning. He just wanted to return to his bedroom and escape it.  
  
He opened the door to his room and did not understand initially what he was looking at. At first glance, he thought that some earthquake had stripped the beds. It looked like both the blankets from the beds had been strung between them to create a space in the middle that was covered. All the pillows were piled inside like columns to support the blanket roof.  
  
Cuba stepped closer and New Spain’s head emerged from the tangle of blankets. Cuba could only imagine what idea had gotten into roommate’s head that had led to this.  
New Spain said, “Come see what I made!” He looked so earnest and excited. Cuba smiled at his infectious enthusiasm and decided to duck under the blankets.  
  
Once inside, he could see what New Spain had done. He had put one blanket on the floor so that it was comfortable to sit. He had also used the pillows to support the top. New Spain was sitting in the middle of his own little castle, holding a blanket and looking resolutely at one section of the ceiling.  
  
Cuba said, “You were busy.”  
New Spain nodded, “I thought I would build us a castle and we could stay here today. Do you like it?”  
  
Cuba was certainly impressed by how much his little friend had been able do on his own. But he did not understand why New Spain was still holding a blanket and looking thoughtful. He said, “I like it. Do you want to make it bigger? A castle should be big.” New Spain nodded and said, “I want to use this one-” He held up the blanket “- but I ran out of pillows.”  
  
Cuba thought about this. They did only have their pillows in this room, and that might not be enough to support any bigger building. But, they weren’t the only pillows in the house. He said, slowly, “This is an intricately constructed blanket fort. It’d be a shame if it went to waste.”  
  
He chewed on his lower lip as he though. He said, “You know, Francisco and his brothers have gone out for the day. So, no one is in their room.”  
  
New Spain got his meaning and a mischievous smirk appeared on his face. He said, “You are a genius! Let’s go get some pillows!”  
  
He put down the blanket and crawled out from under the blanket fort. Cuba followed him as he left the room and walked down the hall to the door that belonged to Peru and his brothers. With one last conspiratorial look, New Spain pushed it open.  
  
Cuba felt his heart beating fast. This was their own little secret mission, and they might get in trouble if they were caught.  
  
New Spain turned to him and put his finger to his own lips, making it clear that they should be completely silent. But, Cuba couldn’t help but giggle as New Spain snuck over to Peru’s bed and grabbed the pillows. He looked like the smallest, cutest saboteur.  
  
Cuba walked over to Bolivia’s bed and did the same. With pillows in hand, New Spain nodded to him and led him back to their own room with no one knowing about their theft.  
Minutes later. they had used the pillows to prop up the weak parts of the blanket fort. They used the last two pillows to make the floor even more comfortable. New Spain used the last blanket to drape across the entrance to close them off in their own world.  
  
Then, satisfied with that done, he laid down on the floor and looked at the patchwork of blankets above him. New Spain patted the spot on the ground next to him impatiently. Cuba found it cute that he was so determined.  
  
He laid next to New Spain and looked over at him. He was smiling and that erased any of the frustration of his tutors being harsh. This was the best way to spend a day.  
New Spain said, “How long do you think we have before Francisco wants his pillows back?” Cuba shrugged, even if his companion could not see it. Then he said, “I don’t know. Maybe a couple hours?”  
  
New Spain laughed, “We don’t have to give them back, do we?” Cuba shrugged again. He knew that Peru would be annoyed, but it didn’t seem like it mattered at all.  
  
He replied, “We might get in trouble for taking them. If we put them back before they get home, no one will know.” New Spain put up his hand, “Promise me that it will be our secret.” Cuba linked his pinkie finger with New Spain’s and replied, “I promise.”

* * *

  
Cuba had felt anxious all day because he had chosen to tell Spain about Colombia’s escapades with his roommate. He felt in his gut that it had been the right thing to do, because New Spain could be so trusting, and it was better to keep him from these kinds of advances.  
  
Spain had promised that he would be gentle and not punish New Spain too harshly for something that was not his fault. Cuba trusted that he had told the truth and would be kind to New Spain.  
He returned to his room, hoping that he would be able to see New Spain and ask him how everything had gone. He opened the door and saw New Spain lying on his side on his bed.  
He could immediately tell that something was wrong. New Spain’s knees were curled up to his chest and he was looking at the wall next to his bed. He didn’t seem to hear Cuba opening the door. He at least didn’t move or turn his head towards the sound.  
  
He stayed where he was, and Cuba had to wonder if he was asleep. But, that was not the position that he slept in, so that could not be the case. Cuba was concerned that something had happened. Perhaps Spain had not been as gentle as he promised he would be.  
Cuba said, “Ale, are you awake?”  
  
New Spain moved, only enough to shift his position, but not turn to look at his friend. Cuba did not understand. New Spain usually greeted him with teasing and smiles, not this cold quiet. The boy’s voice was barely audible as he replied, “I’m awake.”  
  
There was nothing else, just the long silence where Cuba had expected an explanation. He felt the concern growing. His usually talkative friend was dead silent, and it was making him uncomfortable. He walked over and sat on the edge of New Spain’s bed.  
  
Even though New Spain was a perfectionist, he had not thought that Spain’s scolding would effect him so much. Spain had always treated the boy like his favorite, and Cuba had thought that would mediate his punishment.  
  
He said, trying to get some reassurance, “Are you okay? Talk to me, please. Tell me you’re okay.” New Spain shook his head and said, “I am -“ His voice caught in his throat and it sounded like he was about to burst into tears. He couldn’t get the sentence out, and he pulled his knees closer to his chest as he tried to speak.  
His eyes had not moved off of the wall, but they were slowly filling with tears. He finally managed to say, “I can’t say that.”  
  
Cuba’s heart hurt. He hadn’t meant to cause New Spain this pain. He wondered what could have possibly happened in Spain’s office to make New Spain act so strangely. He asked, his voice as soft and gentle as he could manage with his growing concern, “What did Antonio say?”  
  
This was apparently the wrong thing to say because New Spain curled in on himself more. New Spain said, still looking at the same blank spot, “I can’t tell you.” Cuba replied immediately, “But we tell each other everything.” New Spain shook his head again, harder this time. He said, “Not this. It’s better if you don’t know this.”  
  
Cuba wanted to hold him at least, if he could not know what was wrong. He brushed one hand against the arm that was closest to him, hoping that it would be comforting. But he could feel New Spain shudder against the touch and pull away. New Spain said, “I don’t want to be touched.”  
  
Though Cuba could not see it, he could hear that his friend was crying now. He couldn’t understand what was happening. New Spain always wanted physical comfort when he was sad. When he had his nightmares, being held was always enough to get him back to sleep. He habitually gave casual physical affection, little kisses on the cheek and hugs. How could a boy who liked all of that be running away from affection when he seemed so hurt?  
  
The terrible thought came to him that Spain had told him who had told, so New Spain knew that Cuba had been the one to tell. Perhaps it wasn’t that New Spain did not want affection but that he no longer wanted affection from him.  
  
Cuba said, trying as much as he could to be comforting, “What do you need right now?” New Spain shook his head and said, “I don’t know.”  
Cuba could not stand the thought of moving or leaving this bed. His friend was unhappy and he did not want to leave him like that. He let the silence lapse again as he attempted to think of what he could possibly do or say.  
  
In the silence, New Spain finally turned to him and said, “Do you think I’m bad for kissing Enrique?” Cuba immediately said, “No, Ale, I don’t.”  
  
He wanted to touch him, and hold him. But, he would respect that New Spain did not want that. New Spain drew in a shaky breath and said, “Could you ever hate me?”  
  
Cuba shook his head, wondering what could possibly have caused these questions. Spain must have been so harsh to him. New Spain said, “Please, stay with me. I don’t want to be alone.”  
Cuba nodded, though he was still confused and laid down on the bed next to his friend and decided he would stay that way as long as New Spain needed him to.

* * *

  
-1916-  
  
Cuba took a deep breath and looked at his best friend, trying to find the right words to say. It could not be clearer that he was struggling. His hair was chopped short, there was stubble on his chin, and there were deep dark circles under his eyes.  
  
Mexico was not someone to look this rough. He had never been vain; that was another unfair accusation hurled at him. But, he had always been meticulous about himself.  
Cuba said, hoping that Mexico would understand, “How long have you been like this?” Mexico didn’t even meet his eyes as he said, “Been like what?”  
  
His tone was hollow, like it would have been sharp or witty but there was nothing behind it. It sounded like he was out of emotion to spare.  
  
Cuba felt himself biting his lower lip as he tried to find the word to say it. He decided on, “How long have you been in this much pain?” Mexico shrugged and countered, “How long have I been gone?”  
  
While he waited for an answer, he poured himself another drink. Cuba had already noticed that he was drinking more than he ever had before. It could not be an indication of anything good.  
Cuba said, dryly, “It’s been six years.”Mexico stared into his glass without taking a drink yet. He said, like he was barely speaking to anyone else, “Has it been that long?” Cuba tried to be gentle as he said, “You didn’t start feeling this way when you left.”  
  
He had spent enough time while he looked for Mexico wondering what he had missed, because his friend must have been in a desperate place to leave in the middle of the night and vanish without a trace. He hadn’t seen any of it and that thought had haunted him. He was Mexico’s friend and he should have known.  
  
Mexico looked up at him, and it was clear from his bloodshot eyes that he was not sleeping well. Cuba was struck by how lost he looked. Mexico said, “I couldn’t say when it started….”  
He trailed off and started to wring his hands together. He continued, “It has been little pieces. I lost something with Max, but that wasn’t it. With Porfirio, I couldn’t live like that anymore. I-“  
He broke off, and he shook his head. Cuba wanted to push further for his own satisfaction of knowing what he may have missed. But, he saw that it was painful and he wouldn’t continue for his own sake. But, Mexico finished his thought without any prompting, “I don’t think the rest of the world needs me. They only want to use me and I am done being used.”  
  
Cuba didn’t need Mexico to say America’s name to know who he was talking about. But, it hurt his heart to hear it.  
  
Mexico wiped away a stray tear that had escaped with the back of his hand. It reminded Cuba, for a moment, so strongly of when they had been children. He had to say, “Ale, I still need you.”  
Mexico put the glass aside with the drink still untouched, which Cuba took as a small sign of encouragement.  
  
As soon as his hands were free, Cuba took them firmly in his own. Cuba said, trying to keep his tone calming, “I remember when we met you were so sad and alone in the world. Do you remember that?”  
  
Mexico nodded. Cuba squeezed his hands and continued, “I know you feel like you are alone again. But, you weren’t then and you aren’t now. I will be here for you.”  
Mexico’s eyes met his own, and then the smaller man let out a pained sob. Cuba pulled him into a tight hug. He hoped this was the start of something better.

* * *

  
-1916-  
  
Mexico woke to a slightly panicked voice saying, “Ale, wake up! Wake up!” He opened his eyes and emerged from one of his most terrible dreams that plagued him.  
Reality returned slowly in the dark room that was so like the one where the memory had happened. He tried to focus on the moment, instead of the feeling of hands against him and that old hopelessness when he knew that he was trapped and that a simple ‘no’ would not be enough.  
  
Slowly, his mind was able to focus on the face of his best friend right in front of him. He could see every line of worry in Cuba’s face, and it brought him back to the present. That, at least, made the feeling of touches disappear.  
  
As the feeling of the place and time came back, his stomach felt like it flipped. There was a sudden, terrible surge of nausea. Mexico had no idea whether it was the memory of the dream turning his stomach, or his sudden sobriety.  
  
He sat up, and felt Cuba’s hands still firmly holding his shoulders like he was afraid he would run. Mexico pulled in a shaky breath and attempted to steady himself. He closed his eyes and attempted to swallow down the nausea.  
  
But, that only brought back the vivid feelings of the dream. He could feel the hands tight on his wrist and the lips on his neck. The urge to vomit came roaring back. He could feel his hands starting to shake.  
  
Cuba took his hands firmly in his own and said, “Are you here with me?”  
  
Mexico opened his eyes and saw his best friend looking at him with concern and compassion in his eyes. For a moment, Mexico was able to fight down the terrible sensations and focus. He wanted to cry or vomit, or both.  
  
He said, trying to let Cuba bring him back, “I’m here. I-“ He cut off as he attempted again to repress the feeling of sickness. It was stronger than his willpower in the moment, and he broke down and said, “I need a drink.”  
  
He knew that would at least settle his stomach and stop some of the shaking. And, if he drank enough, it would stop any dreams. That had always been the reason to drink: enough made the feelings and the dreams fade. Cuba squeezed his hands and said firmly, “You do not. You need to stay with me. It will pass if you wait.”  
  
Mexico wanted so badly to leave the bed and find a bottle of mezcal. At any other time in the past five years, he would have done exactly that. But, he had made a promise to Cuba, and he intended to keep it.  
  
He took a deep breath and tried to center himself. He said, his voice coming out unexpectedly strained, “I’ll stay.”  
He felt suddenly absurd. He had been a country for a century, a terrible century, and here he was sitting on a bed with his closest friend, like they did when they were children. Yet, at the same time, it was so horribly different.  
  
Cuba said, his voice calm and measured, “What were you dreaming about? You were pleading in your sleep.” Mexico wanted to tell him, but speaking it aloud would be a terrible thing. He had never brought it to his lips, and had no intention to.  
  
Cuba said, gently, “Was it about Antonio?” Mexico replied, feeling like this was little enough to admit to, “Yes, it was.” Cuba continued, squeezing his hands affectionately again, “What did he do?”  
  
That was a step too far, and Mexico could not say it. The memory was bad enough, and having to say it was even worse. There would be no way to keep the tears back, and he could not cry now, not after holding it back for a century. He shook his head and felt the shaking in his hands intensify.  
  
Cuba seemed to understand what that meant. He reached out and pulled his smaller friend into a hug. His voice was soft in Mexico’s ear, “You don’t have to say it. I understand.”  
It felt warm and safe in his arms, like they were still children and he could chase away all the demons. Mexico cuddled closer against the other’s chest and began to feel a bit better.  
Cuba leaned back onto the pillows, not releasing the other for a moment. Then, he pulled the blanket back up around his friend’s shoulders.  
  
Mexico said, “I wish I didn’t have these memories. They’re never going to fade. I’m always going to feel it.” He heard the visceral pain in his own voice, and he hated it for every little bit of weakness it betrayed.  
  
Cuba ran one big hand comfortingly over his shoulder and said, “You aren’t alone. I will be here when you feel like you can tell me.” He paused briefly before adding, “It doesn’t make you weak to feel.”  
  
Mexico put his head against the other’s shoulder and closed his eyes. It felt safe right here, with strong, caring arms around him. He let himself start to drift back to sleep.

* * *

  
-1955-  
Cuba took several gasping breaths as he tried to catch his breath. Training to fight was so much harder than he had expected it to be. The strain was pulling at every muscle in his body, and he was currently wondering how anyone did this easily. He had spent too long being someone else’s subject, and he needed to learn to fight if he was ever going to escape it.  
  
He put his hands on his knees and tried to pull in a breath. Over the sound of his own labored breath, he heard footsteps as Mexico walked towards him. He looked up to see his best friend looking concerned. Mexico said, “Are you alright?”  
  
Cuba tried to straighten up to assure Mexico that there was nothing wrong with him. But, he let out an involuntary groan as he did. He didn’t want Mexico to think he was weak, especially now that he was making this effort to train him. The fear came that Mexico might start to think he wasn’t capable.  
  
He said, “I am just tired.”  
  
He didn’t know what to expect from Mexico, but what he got was a compassionate smile. Mexico spoke, and his voice sounded so kind when he said, “You have been working hard all morning. It’s normal to be tired.”  
  
He extended a hand to Cuba, who gladly took it and finished straightening up. His body was complaining after so many days of hard work learning how to shoot a gun with precision, how to fight with just a knife, or no weapon at all.  
  
But, it was worth every pain for the giant he was looking to topple. No one had defeated America in recent memory, and facing the prospect of ridding himself of his interest would be difficult. But, Mexico, beyond being his best friend, was the last person to blacken American’s eye and he knew how to fight better than anyone in the Americas.  
  
He let Mexico take him by the hand and lead him to a chair. Cuba sat and felt some relief. Mexico released his hand and said, “I am going to get you something to drink.”  
  
As he walked away, Cuba looked after him. Mexico looked like he had healed so much in the years since he had found him falling apart. He smiled now, and that was a good change.  
  
As Cuba sat there, he couldn’t help but let his mind slip back to himself. He so wanted to be free of America, who ruthlessly drained every drop of income that he could. This had no been what he thought being free of Spain would be like. He had hoped for so much, and it had all come to nothing. But, if he could get away from America, then perhaps he could start again.  
  
But, then the thought came back that he was hoping for something that could never happen. He was a little island who hadn’t been able to fight Spain on his own. What hope did he have to defeat America, who was so strong now?  
  
He felt the doubt coming back so strongly. Mexico reappeared with a cup in his hand, which he tried to offer to Cuba. But, he saw that Cuba put his head in his hands.  
Cuba ran one hand through his hair, which he was growing out for the first time in a long time. Mexico told him that it looked handsome with his hair longer. Cuba had noticed his friend wanting to touch it more often, and he took it as a good sign.  
  
His fingers caught in the curls. He didn’t even notice that Mexico had knelt in front of him, until Mexico reached out and took his free hand. Cuba said, staring down at his friend’s fingers on his hands, “If I can’t do this, how will I ever win?”  
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his confidence dropping, and he hated to show this side of himself in front of Mexico. Mexico spoke, his voice was firm, “Look at me.”  
Cuba looked up and met his eyes. There was a fire in the depths of his eyes, playing off the gold flecks. Mexico had a steady intensity that held his attention and made it impossible to look away. Mexico said, “You are strong and determined, and you will succeed.”  
  
Cuba nodded. Mexico continued, “I pushed you too hard. You are doing so well.” The words, spoken so firmly, made Cuba feel like they must be the truth.  
A small smile turned up the corner of Cuba’s mouth. He said, “Thank you, Ale, for everything.”  
  
Mexico gave him one more warm smile and said, “Let’s take the rest of the day off. It won’t hurt to let you rest.” Cuba nodded one more time.

* * *

  
Mexico looked across the room at Cuba, who currently had his shirt off and was unbraiding his hair, which he had put up for the night. As he worked, Mexico could see the rippling of the muscles in his back. His skin was so smooth and beautiful and every movement showed the muscles underneath.  
  
He had gotten so muscular working hard during his Revolution. Mexico bit his lower lip as he contemplating his friend’s new physique. He was glad that it wasn’t all hard muscle though. He loved how soft and comfortable Cuba had always been, and him getting stronger had not changed that. But he did look so handsome.  
  
His work was going slowly and there was still pieces braided and curling against the back of his head. Mexico smiled a little at how it looked. The curls were so unruly and Cuba was clearly still not used to this length.  
  
Cuba turned around and noticed the smile. He asked, “What are you smiling about?”Mexico said, “Come here, let me brush your hair.”  
  
Cuba smiled warmly and walked back to the bed. He spoke as he walked, “Just be gentle.” Cuba settled himself on the side of the bed and turned the back of his head to Mexico.  
Mexico moved closer and took one of the braids and started to unbraid it and run his fingers through the curls to make sure they weren’t too tangled. The braids had clearly been an imperfect solution, because there were still plenty of tangles.  
  
The tangles caught on his fingers and he tried to gently pull them apart. He said, “Tell me if it hurts.”Cuba responded, leaning his head back a little, “It doesn’t. That feels nice.”  
He loved the feeling of Cuba’s soft hair around his fingers. It had been so short their whole childhood, and he had never had a chance to run his fingers through it before. And it was so soft and beautiful.  
  
Cuba smiled and said, “You have very gentle hands.” Mexico was certain it was a compliment and he took it as such. He slowly tried to work a single set of tangles around his fingers, but he was so aware of how much it might hurt if he pulled too hard. He very gently teased the tangle apart with his fingers.  
He spoke, “Your hair is so beautiful. Why didn’t you ever grow it out before?”  
  
He suspected that he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it. Cuba replied, “Antonio never let me. He said it should be short all the time.” Mexico believed that. He had also been subjected to Spain’s whims about his hair. He knew it must have been just as bad for Cuba. It was even worse considering how much longer Cuba had been a colony. He had been subjected to some of Spain’s worst period.  
  
He prompted, “And Alfred?” That was no great mystery either, especially to Mexico.Cuba scoffed, “I think you know. He told me it made me look like ‘one of those people’ if it was too long.”  
His voice dripped with scorn as he recounted America’s words. Mexico started on another of the braids as he said, “You don’t have to listen to either of them anymore. You’re free.” He combed his fingers through the curls of the section he had just unbraided. Cuba let out a low appreciative groan. It must have felt good to have the tension released.  
  
Cuba said, “I’m thinking of doing something different with my hair.” Mexico paused with his hand still buried in the soft curls. He said, “Please don’t tell me you are going to cut it off again. I may cry if you cut it off.” Cuba laughed and said, “No, I am not going to cut it. I was thinking of dreadlocks.”  
  
Mexico was surprised, but he was not going to try to dissuade his friend. Freedom meant that he could do what he pleased with his own appearance. Mexico was also of the opinion that Cuba would look handsome whatever he chose.  
  
He started on unbraiding the last section of hair and said, “Will it make you happy?” Cuba seemed to contemplate nodding before remembering that he should keep his head in place. Instead, he said, “Yes, I think it would.” Mexico finished untangling the last section of his hair and said, “Then I support you doing it. You are so handsome that anything will look good on you.” He finished by running his hand through the now loose curls.

* * *

  
-2016-  
  
Mexico poured himself another another shot of tequila, while Cuba eyed the bottle with a degree of trepidation. It was rare that he could go through this much alcohol this quickly, and it meant that he was really upset. Like clockwork, once Mexico downed the shot, he said, “He’s a fucking asshole, you know that?”  
  
As Cuba suspected, some of the rage slipped out, though he could tell that even more existed below it. Mexico continued talking, apparently carrying on a dialogue with himself, “But you’ve always told me that, haven’t you?” Cuba said, his voice level, “Ale, I have no idea who you are talking about.”  
  
Mexico made a face that was very familiar from their childhood together, it was one of profound frustration. He let out a long sigh and said, “Alfred. My jackass of a neighbor. My soon to be ex-boyfriend.”  
  
Cuba had suspected as much, but he wasn’t going to assume. He had never agreed with the relationship, and these periodic rants did nothing to change his mind.  
  
Mexico started pacing angrily. Cuba didn’t need to say anything, as Mexico said, “Do you want to say that you told me so? You’ve earned it.” Cuba could feel his own temper rising, but he kept it in check.  
  
He was forcing himself to stay calm when he said, “When you are upset and you ask to come over, I have two rules. First, I’m never going to say ‘I told you so.’” Mexico’s expression softened and he asked, “And what is the other one?” Cuba said, attempting to smile comfortingly, “Never let you get more than a quarter of the way through a bottle of tequila.”  
  
He then gestured at the bottle, which was getting close to the point where he would take it away for his friends sake. He then said, “Now, what did he do this time?” He added, his tone darkening, “If he hit you, I’m going to kill him.”  
  
Mexico shook his head quickly, “He didn’t.” He paused for a moment and contemplated the tequila before deciding to continue at the same level of drunkenness, “He gave me that whole, ‘it’s politics; it’s not about us’ speech. All I ask is that he stands up for me for once. I defend him all the time, and he can’t just say something when his politicians start with their shit! He can take that fucking speech and shove it!”  
  
The anger rose in his voice as he spoke, to the point where he yelling. Cuba nodded as sympathetically as possible, he knew what it was like to have Alfred make promises and break them. He said, choosing his words as to not blame his friend, “If he isn’t willing to defend you, then he isn’t worth the time you are spending thinking about him.”

The other sighed and said, “You’re right.”  
  
Cuba could see the conflict just beneath Mexico’s carefully crafted facade. He decided not to push it further. Instead he said, “Ale, do you want to stay tonight? I’ll make dinner and we can play cards or chess if you want.”  
  
Mexico smiled for the first time since he had come over. He nodded and said, “I’ll check with my boss. He might need me tonight.” His smile widened a little and he added, “Thanks for listening.”  
  
With a kind of sweet recklessness that only he could pull off, Mexico walked over and kissed his friend on the cheek. Cuba tried not to feel the warmth in his cheeks.

* * *

  
Mexico lounged comfortably against his friend’s chest, a slightly drunken smile on his face. He looked incredibly charming without saying a word.  
  
For once, he had not called Cuba expressly for the sake of complaining or ranting. He had just wanted to spend time in the comforting presence of his friend. Cuba usually dreaded seeing Mexico’s number on his phone because he knew it meant something had gone wrong. But, it had been a rare pleasant day, and Cuba had enjoyed it.  
  
They had gone to the beach and enjoyed the Caribbean. It was simple, but it gave them a chance to talk. It had been thoroughly pleasant, and now Mexico was leaning against him as the light of the day slowly failed. His hair was wet and sticking to Cuba’s chest, but he didn’t mind.  
  
Mexico reached up and brushed back a few locks of Cuba’s hair and said, “You know what?” Cuba smiled and said, “What?” Mexico shifted his weight slightly before he said, “I don’t understand why you are still single. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a boyfriend.”  
  
Cuba lightly put his hand on Mexico’s where it was still playing with his hair. Then he said, trying to explain without saying what he really thought,. He didn’t dare say the first thing that actually came to mind. Instead, he deflected, “Why does it matter?”Mexico responded quickly, “I want you to be happy.” Cuba put his other hand on his friend’s shoulder, which was still a little wet with sea water. He said, “Do you think a boyfriend makes someone happy?” 

The other scoffed and said, “Well mine haven’t. Except for Vicente. But that isn’t the point. I have terrible taste in men You deserve someone who will treat you well.”  
  
Cuba smiled again, but it didn’t feel as real. He had heard enough about the way Mexico’s past lovers had hurt him, and he didn’t like the idea of Mexico making light of those experiences. If he didn’t joke about it, then perhaps he would be able to see that he should leave America.  
  
Cuba replied with, “I am happy with my friends.” Mexico shifted again like he was either getting restless or more comfortable, and Cuba wrapped his arm around his shoulders. The sun was setting and turning the skies a deep orange. Mexico, as he was his tendency, refused to let it go, “Didn’t you on a few dates with Matthew?”  
  
Cuba sighed. They had been nice enough, but he much preferred to have Canada as a friend. The expectation of romance between them had made them both uncomfortable and strained their conversation. He said, “I don’t feel that way about him.”  
  
The smile that appeared on his friend’s face immediately told Cuba that he was about to say something mischievous. Mexico didn’t disappoint that expectation when he said, “I could set you up with someone. Just tell me your type. I know enough eligible single men. But, if you date Fransisco, I will have to stop being your friend.”  
  
The last sentence was paired with a slight pout that reminded Cuba of when they had both been children. Cuba said, “You wouldn’t do that.”  
The other replied, playfully, “What?”  
Cuba pulled him closer and said, “You wouldn’t stop being my friend.”  
Mexico cuddled closer and said, “You’re right. I would be lonely without you.”  
  
Cuba decided to avoid the rivalry between Peru and Mexico entirely. He said, “You don’t have to worry. I don’t find him that attractive.”  
Mexico’s eyes were beginning to close, as he gave in to the tiredness that usually set in when he was comfortable. Cuba knew very well that his friend had nightmares that kept him awake, and these moments of quiet and safety always brought on sleep eventually.  
  
As he unconsciously cuddled even closer, Mexico resembled a tired kitten. Mexico said, his voice full of sleep, “Good, he’s a jerk.” Cuba ran his free hand through Mexico’s hair. He just wanted to make Mexico comfortable enough to that he could get some sleep. He said, “I have enough love in my life.”  
  
Mexico’s eyes were already closed and he had pulled himself tightly against Cuba’s chest, where he had nestled himself comfortably. But, he still spoke, “Of course, you have me.”  
Carefully, Cuba picked up the other, who had fallen asleep. He leaned over and kissed Mexico’s forehead tenderly. He said, quietly so that he was sure that Mexico would not hear him and wake up, “I love you.”

* * *

  
Cuba’s phone rang on bis bedside table and the sound woke him. The screen was lit up and a familiar ringtone was sounding. He knew this ringtone well. He had set a specific ringtone for Mexico, so he would never forget to pick up his call.  
  
He was still half asleep, but he picked up the phone and swiped to answer. He put it to his ear as he used his other hand to brush two dreadlocks out of his face and tried to tuck them back into the wrap he wore to protect his hair.  
  
Mexico’s voice sounded on the other side of the phone, “Did I wake you up?”  
He knew something must be wrong. Mexico never called in the middle of the night unless something was wrong. He replied, slowly gathering himself, “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. What’s wrong?”  
  
He knew that if he did not ask, Mexico would not immediately say. Years of stubborn independence had made him hesitant to reveal any weakness. There was a momentary pause and then Mexico said, “I just need someone else here, right now.”  
  
Cuba knew that tone. He sounded scared. It was amazing how much he could still sound like the scared little boy he had met so long ago. He had won wars and could fight better than anyone Cuba knew, but he could still be scared in these dark hours of the morning.  
  
Cuba hardly had to think about his response. He would never leave Mexico alone to deal with whatever dark thoughts were frightening him. He said, “Don’t worry. I will be right over.” Mexico’s voice came again after another short pause, “Thank you.”  
  
Cuba knew how much Mexico agonized about asking, and how relieved he was to be met with compassion instead of condemnation. Cuba got out of bed and pulled a jacket on over his pajamas.  
  
He could get dressed, but he was certain that Mexico would want to sleep again once he got there. At the very least, he would want to be in bed cuddling. There was no point in taking the time to put on clothing that would be less comfortable when it was not necessary. He grabbed his keys and walked out.  
  
He arrived at Mexico’s house and pulled out his set of keys. Mexico had given him a set of keys to his home years ago. But, he knew he probably would not need them.  
  
He raised his hand and knocked on the door. It opened after the second knock and Mexico looked up at him. His eyes were slightly red, and Cuba immediately wanted to hold him. He looked so upset, and the expression was heartrendingly tragic on his handsome face.  
  
But, instead, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. But, he had barely turned back when Mexico hugged him.  
  
It was so natural to return the hug and let Mexico rest his head against his chest. Mexico spoke, “I’m so glad you came.”Cuba responded, “Of course I did. I will always be here for you.” He paused for a moment before saying, “Do you want me to help you sleep?”  
  
It was usually the reason that he called, and even if he could not sleep, they would have the chance to talk. He could hold Mexico and let him know that everything would be alright.  
He felt Mexico nod against his chest. For all the rampant gossip about his selfishness, Mexico was so bad at asking for what was best for him.  
  
Cuba felt Mexico take hold of his hand and pull him gently in the direction of the bedroom. It was not necessary, since Cuba was well aware of where Mexico slept, but he suspected that Mexico did not want to break contact.  
  
He followed his friend into the bedroom. It was such a familiar place, the soft bed and the half-finished mural over it. Hunahpú and Ixbalanqué, two of Mexico’s chihuahuas who looked so much alike that they were indistinguishable from each other, were on the bed.  
  
Mexico only released Cuba’s hand to pick up the little dogs and place them gently on the floor. As soon as he did, another of the five jumped up on the bed. Mexico cast a frustrated eye at him. Cuba settled into bed and said, “Ale, come here. Don’t worry about the dogs.”  
  
Mexico sighed and decided that he would rather be in bed. He laid down next to Cuba and again put his head on his chest. Cuba put one arm around his shoulders and used the other to pull up the blankets to cover them both.  
  
Mexico said, “I’m glad you’re here. You are the only person in the world who believes that I am good.”  
Cuba looked down at him. He was so handsome and so sweet, and so few people understood it. It was terrible that someone who was as genuine and caring as him felt so alone in the world. But, that couldn’t be the only reason he had called at this hour.  
  
Cuba rubbed his back comfortingly and said, “What happened?”Mexico cuddled closer, moving from being next to Cuba to being on top of him. Then, he said, “It was another nightmare.”  
Cuba was about to press for more details when Mexico continued, “It was about Tony. I woke up and I could still feel his hands on my wrists and I could hear him saying that this is what sluts like me deserve.”  
  
Tears welled up in his eyes and Cuba could hear the way that his voice was breaking. It broke his heart to hear Mexico like this. He was so deeply hurt, and it was so hard to soothe that. He pulled him more firmly into his arms. He felt like he was trying to protect Mexico from these horrible memories. He knew it was absurd to think that he could do that with just his arms, but he was so compelled to do something.  
  
He said, softly, “Shhh…he isn’t here anymore. I am here, and I will take care of you.” Mexico tightened his hold on Cuba.  
  
His eyes were slowly closing, and Cuba could tell that he was exhausted. Now that he felt he was with someone safe, his body was quickly giving in to the urge to sleep.  
  
He rubbed Mexico’s back and let him get comfortable. Mexico let out a satisfied sound and closed his eyes completely.

* * *

  
The light came in through the half-closed shutters and Cuba groaned as it hit his eyes. He was warm and comfortable and didn’t want to be woken by this intrusion. He didn’t even want to open his eyes to see the source of the light, but he knew that the light was not going away.  
  
He opened his eyes and glanced over at the window, trying to measure the distance to the window, and whether he could reach it without actually moving. To his frustration, it was too far.  
He reconciled himself with being awake and looked around. Mexico was across his chest with his arms wrapped around a ball of sheets. Cuba was surprised that Mexico’s arms weren’t not around his arm, because that was where they would usually be. Mexico’s had always had the urge to wrap him arms around the closest person when he slept. When they had been boys, it had meant that Cuba regularly woke up with his friend holding firmly onto him.  
  
Cuba looked down at Mexico’s face, so perfectly serene when he was asleep. There was a little smile on his lips. So, Cuba thought, it is a good dream for once.  
  
He thought it would be a crime to wake Mexico from a good dream, when he had them so rarely. Mexico mumbled something in his sleep, and Cuba couldn’t catch what it was. If he was happy, then it didn’t matter.  
  
He thought it would be nice for Mexico to wake up to have breakfast already prepared. Cuba could at least make coffee before Mexico woke up. It would make him smile, and that would be worth it.  
  
He slowly started to move, which was not the easiest task with Mexico comfortably cuddled against his chest. As gently as he could, he tried to move Mexico onto the pile of pillows at the head of the bed without waking him.  
  
He had always been a deep sleeper, but was oddly sensitive to having his comforts removed. If there was one time when he was really entitled, it was when he was asleep.  
As Cuba placed him on two pillows, Mexico let out a grumble like he knew his comfortable source of heat was leaving.  
  
Cuba then started to slowly slide out from under the blankets. As both of his feet touched the worn wood floor, he thought that he had made his escape. But, then Mexico grabbed his hand.  
Mexico’s eyes were still half-closed as he said, “Stay in bed please?”  
  
Cuba turned back to look at him. He was undoubtedly awake now. The look on his face was cute, like he was tired and pleading. Cuba leaned back over and said, “Go back to sleep. I’m going to make you a nice breakfast.”  
  
Mexico stubbornly responded, his eyes still not entirely open, “I want you here more than I want breakfast.”  
  
Cuba sighed to himself. He would be annoyed with this if it was not so cute. And he was tempted to take the offer and get back in bed. But, Mexico would be happy to have food when he got out of bed.  
  
Cuba kissed him softly on the forehead and then said, “Let me go. I’m not going that far.”  
Mexico put one arm around Cuba’s shoulders and said, “No, stay with me. It’s your fault you’re too lovable to let go.”  
  
Cuba couldn’t help but laugh at how Mexico’s usual eloquence deserted him when he was still half asleep. But, it was not worth this one-sided argument when one side was still not awake enough to be reasoned with.  
  
Cuba pulled his legs back up into bed and laid back down next to Mexico. The other immediately pulled himself comfortably against his chest, and said softly, “I win.” Cuba brushed back a piece of his hair and said,“You’re spoiled.”Mexico closed his eyes and replied, “But you love me.”  
  
With that, he fell back asleep and Cuba kissed him one more time softly on the forehead.

* * *

  
Cuba had been never particularly enjoyed that world meetings were sometimes accompanied by formal parties, gatherings, and galas. It seemed to be some holdover from when all European politics had been carried out at these kind of gatherings.  
  
Usually, Cuba would turn down the invitations with some excuse. But, they were in Moscow and Russia’s invitation was not one he could turn down. The man had been his friend and ally, and turning him down because of his own dislike of formal events was not an option.  
  
But, he would not be without pleasant company because he knew that Mexico had been invited as well, and he was never one to turn down a chance to show himself off in public. He did love to parade his beauty, but Cuba could not blame him. He had always thought that he would show off too if he was as beautiful as Mexico.  
  
Russia had not been particularly subtle about his intentions either. He had winked and said, “You should invite Mexico to come with you. Dance with each other. Enjoy the night. I think you would both enjoy that.”  
  
He seemed convinced that their friendship was to his advantage, but Cuba wasn’t going to complain.  
  
As he pulled on his pants and a white shirt, he heard his phone vibrate. He picked it up and looked at the text. It was from Mexico. It read, “I’m ready and on my way over.”  
  
Carlos smiled at it. They spent plenty of time together, but a night out was always enjoyable. It made the prospect of socializing so much more pleasant.  
  
The phone vibrated again as another text from Mexico appeared. This one read, “I may have overdone it” For a moment, he wondered what that could possibly mean. The next text simply said, “You judge.”  
  
Cuba raised one eyebrow at the row of messages like they might explain themselves. But, the meaning remained complete impossible to surmise.  
  
He turned back to finding his tie and started fumbling with it. He managed to get it into a passable knot before he heard the knock at the door. He hurried over to open it. Mexico was standing right outside.  
  
He smiled up at Cuba as he walked in and said, “So, what do you think?” He gestured at what he was wearing and then turned so that Cuba could see it all.  
He had on a black suit with a black shirt and vest. The jacket had a raised pattern in velvet that looked like abstract florals. He was wearing a gold tie and a hold handkerchief in his suit pocket.  
As stunning as his outfit was, Cuba was drawn to the way the jacket hugged his waist and the way in which the gold in the tie and the handkerchief reflected in his mischievous eyes. It made him need to catch his breath.  
  
Mexico was so stunningly handsome and the way he was dressed emphasized all his best features.  
  
Cuba found himself struggling to find the right words to express what he thought. He said, ineloquently, “You look….wow. Yeah, it works for the gala.”Mexico flashed him a mischievous smirk and said, “I’m glad you like it.”  
  
Cuba said, trying to pretend that his eyes weren’t drawn to his friend’s waist and he was not imagining putting his hands there, “I feel under-dressed next to you.”  
He felt like his plain black suit and black tie looked like he had not made an effort.  
  
Mexico shook his head. He stepped closer and gently took his tie in his hand and started to straighten it and adjust the knot. He said, “Don’t say that. You don’t need all the embellishment.”  
He finished with the knot and reached up to touch Cuba’s dreadlocks, which were gathered into a ponytail. He continued, “You look handsome and masculine.” Cuba scoffed and was about to speak as Mexico add, with a provocative raised eyebrow, “And so sexy.”  
  
Cuba felt his face getting hot. Nothing got his blood pumping quite like Mexico calling him sexy. He gathered himself and said, “I will get my jacket and we can go.” Mexico nodded and said, “I expect you to dance with me at least once. You are the best partner.” Cuba found his suit jacket and pulled it on before saying, “You can have as many dances as you want.”

* * *

  
The streets of Havana were always lovely at night, but Cuba found them even more wonderful as he watched his best friend walk slightly ahead of him. It had been a good night, full of frivolity and dancing.  
  
Cuba wished he could tell Mexico how much he loved watching him dance, but he couldn’t let loose that secret, or he might tell him that he wished he could pull him close and slow dance with him.  
  
Mexico was still walking with a carefree music in his step, and it made Cuba smile. His friend was so rarely this happy, especially with current politics. But, in this moment, when he had a few drinks and a night of dancing to cheer him up, there was a light about him that no one could replicate.  
  
Mexico spun around on his heel, and faced Cuba. He smiled and said, “What else should we do? We could get another drink.” Cuba shook his head. He knew that Mexico did not have the best relationship with alcohol over the years, and he felt like they were both a comfortable level of intoxicated.  
  
He shook his head, “I think we have both had enough.” Mexico pouted, but it was playful, and said, “That’s disappointing.”  
  
Cuba stepped towards him and put one arm around Mexico’s shoulders. He said, “Come on. Let’s go home.” Mexico leaned against him, comfortingly tactile. Mexico responded, “I don’t want the night to be over yet.”  
  
With a touch of dramatic flare, Cuba checked his watch. He was well aware of the time, but it was worth a little bit of theater. Then, he said, “Well, it is after midnight. The night is over already.”  
They started walking again, Cuba keeping his arm around Mexico’s shoulders and Mexico slipping his arm around his friend’s waist. Mexico looked at him and pouted in the kind of faux disappointment that only he was capable of making endearing instead of bratty.  
  
Cuba had some suspicion that Mexico did not want this to end because he was enjoying the distance from his responsibilities as a country. But, it was so worth the late nights to see him like this. He looked like the weight of the years had lifted off of his shoulders, like he was as carefree as he had been when they were children.  
  
It was the very best side of him, and so few people got to see it. Cuba felt like it was a rare gift that he got to have these moments. He smiled and said, “I promise it will still be nice at home.” Mexico smiled and replied, “ It always is with you.”  
  
Cuba busied himself as soon as he got home, first by stepping into the bedroom and making sure that the bed was in order. He knew that his friend was going to stay the night, and he wanted to make sure that the place felt comfortable.  
  
Then, he took a step into the bathroom and closed the door. He looked at himself in the mirror and tried to summon his courage. He had thought long and hard about this, and tonight was a good opportunity. Mexico was single for the first time in quite a while, and it brought a very old affection to the surface.  
  
There was no way to deny that he loved Mexico, and had loved him since they were both very young. He loved his steadfast independence, his wonderful wit, and his kind heart.  
  
He fixed his eyes firmly on his own reflection and said, his voice a whisper so that it didn’t carry, “You need to tell him. This is your chance.” Then, he took a deep breath and resolved that he was going to say it tonight. He was going to be clear about his feelings for the first time.  
  
He pushed open the bathroom door and walked into the kitchen. Mexico was leaning against the kitchen table with a bowl of ice cream in one hand. Cuba’s plans for what he was going to say vanished in a moment and he said, “Did you get that out of my fridge?”  
  
He hadn’t exactly been saving the ice cream, but he was surprised to see it. Mexico smirked mischievously and gestured with the spoon, “You should know not to keep sweets around me.”  
  
Then he plunged the spoon back into the ice cream and took another bite. He looked so handsome, but there was also something impish and inviting about him. Cuba walked closer and said, trying to sound stern, “Shouldn’t you have asked first? What if I wanted to eat that?” Mexico laughed and said, “Maybe. But you weren’t here. You can’t blame me.”  
  
Then, he paused and Cuba felt his own heart stop for a moment in anticipation of what his friend was going to say. Mexico said, his tone softer, “Come here.”  
  
Without a second thought, Cuba did just that. Once they were close enough, Mexico offered him a spoonful of ice cream. Cuba opened his mouth to accept it. Mexico smiled and said, “See? I can share.”  
  
Cuba had to wait until he swallowed to respond. Once he could speak again, he said, “It doesn’t count if it was mine to start with.” The shorter man continued to smirk and said, “I thought you didn’t believe in private property.” This was accompanied by the cutest chuckle and the offering of another spoonful of ice cream.  
  
Cuba was slowly becoming aware of how close they were standing together. It wasn’t unusual, but his mind started the usual reminder that he could so easily kiss his friend. He resisted the urge and instead said, “I should get my own spoon.”  
  
Mexico waited patiently as he got another spoon from another part of the kitchen and returned. There were a couple of minutes of silence before Mexico said, “I was serious, you know.” Cuba asked, puzzled, “Serious about what?”  
  
Mexico let out a sigh that made Cuba think it was something that was actually bothering him. He was looking down into the bowl as he said, “I don’t like when these nights end.”  
He poked at the ice cream like he was trying to distract himself. Cuba felt the need to hug him, and he would have if there wasn’t a bowl between them. He asked, “Why?”  
Mexico looked up at him and said, “Because you make me happy, and I wish we could be like this all the time.”  
  
Cuba felt his heart beat a little faster. He couldn’t help but think that if he could just say what he felt, maybe they could have this all the time. But, as he thought about saying it, the words died in his throat. Instead, he said, “You can visit me whenever you want.”  
  
Mexico leaned forward, somehow managing to avoid dropping the bowl, and kissed Cuba on the cheek. He was standing on his toes to attempt to be tall enough to reach.  
When he settled back down fully on his feet, he said, “I love you. You know I love you.” Cuba wished the sentiment did not sound so familial. He would do anything for his best friend, but he wished it could be different. Romance would be beautiful between them.  
  
But, pushing the issue was difficult. And, above all, he was so scared of the idea that Mexico would tell him no. It was too terrible to imagine the damage it might do on their friendship if Mexico rejected him. So, he settled with kissing Mexico on the forehead and saying, “I love you too.”

* * *

  
Cuba was sitting in his best friend’s living room, with one of Mexico’s prized Chihuahuas sitting on his lap. He was scratching the little dog absentmindedly on the head. The other four were playing on the floor in front of him.  
  
He checked his phone again. The most recent message was from Mexico, who had just gotten back from a long business trip to the Philippines and was on his way home.  
Cuba had gladly taken on the task of looking after the dogs while Mexico was away. He knew them well and they seemed to enjoy his company. He had known them all since they were tiny puppies that Spain had just given to Mexico.  
  
The little dog in his lap was wagging his tail contentedly as Cuba scratched his head.  
  
There was the sound outside that Cuba recognized as Mexico returning home. All five of the dogs immediately stopped moving at the sound and turned their heads towards it. The dog on his lap, who had been sitting quietly sat bolt upright, with his ears keenly turned towards the door.  
  
After a couple minutes of weighty silence, Mexico opened the door. The dogs all rushed towards him, wagging their tails excitedly. Cuba only managed to keep the one on his lap because there was such a large distance to the floor and he didn’t want the small dog to fall that far.  
  
Mexico looked tired, more so than usual. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was slightly disheveled. But he smiled at his chihuahuas clustered around his feet. He knelt down and kissed and pet each of them in turn. He seemed to be counting them, and then he realized that one was missing.  
  
He looked up at Cuba and saw the last of his dogs on his lap. His smile got even warmer. Mexico walked over to him and leaned down to pick up the chihuahua.  
  
The dog happily flung himself into Mexico’s arms. Mexico said, his voice taking on the cutesy tone that he only ever used on his dogs, “How is my little boy? Did you look after your brothers.”  
The dog was wagging his tail so hard that his whole little body was moving. Once Mexico held him close enough to his face, the dog started licking any piece of Mexico’s face that he could reach. Mexico let out a sigh that sounded equal parts happy and exhausted.  
  
Cuba patted the couch next to him to encourage Mexico to sit. The man gladly flopped down onto his own comfortable sofa. He set the chihuahua he was holding back into Cuba’s lap, and then reached down and picked up two more from those who were waiting patiently at his feet. Cuba recognized them as the two that Mexico referred to as “the twins.”  
  
Then, he leaned heavily against Cuba. He said, his eyes partially closing, “Thank you for looking after them.” Cuba smiled and shifted how he was sitting so Mexico could cuddle closer to him. He said, “I am always happy to dogsit. They are good boys.”  
  
Mexico was petting his dogs with one hand on each of their heads. He looked very tired and his eyes were slowly closing. Cuba thought he knew why, and he asked, “Did you sleep on the flight from Manila?”  
  
Mexico’s eyes were still only half closed as he responded, cuddling closer as Cuba knew he would, “No. I don’t sleep when I fly. There are too many people there and I don’t like that.”  
  
Cuba could have guessed that. somewhere like a plane would not make Mexico feel comfortable enough to sleep. But, it must have been so long from the Philippines and he had not slept.  
He snaked his arm around Mexico and pulled him even closer. The dogs scrambled to rearrange themselves across both of their laps. Cuba glanced at Mexico and saw that his eyes were closed entirely, and he seemed so much more comfortable that way. It looked like he had been holding himself up with pure willpower before.  
  
Cuba moved one of the dogs off of Mexico’s lap and onto his own, and then he said, “I suppose I am now requisitioned to being a napping spot.” Mexico made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat, “Mmhmm.”  
  
Then he finally gave in to his exhaustion. One of the dogs made a whining noise and prodded at Mexico’s hand. Cuba said softly, “Shhh, your dad needs his rest.”  
Mexico slept comfortably against Cuba for two hours. Cuba found it adorable that the dogs soon either returned to their play or cuddled up next to their dad to sleep. They were so like their dad.  
  
He was perfectly content letting Mexico sleep, and petting the sleeping dogs in their lap. There was nothing cuter than Mexico sleeping with the pets that he treated like his children.  
After a couple silent, happy hours, Mexico started to stir. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as he woke up. Cuba loved the little gesture, because Mexico had always done it while he was waking up, even when they were children. It was so cute, even now that he was an adult.  
  
He blinked blearily up at Cuba, and seemed to understand what had happened. He said, “… Sorry. I took a nap on you”  
Cuba didn’t mind at all. He had almost been prepared for it after such a long flight. He squeezed his friend with his arm comfortingly and said, “Don’t worry about it. You were tired and you need your sleep.”  
  
Mexico was still half asleep and he said, with a smile that made Cuba’s heart race, “And you are so comfy.”  
  
Cuba took it as a compliment. He kissed Mexico on the forehead. He couldn’t help but find him so sweet when he acted like this. Mexico made a happy noise in the back of his throat.  
Then he looked down at his dogs, and smiled. Mexico said, “I have missed them.” Cuba responded, “And I have missed you. If you will get off of me, I will go make you some dinner.”  
Mexico leaned back so that Cuba could stand up and he said, “I would like that very much.”

* * *

  
Mexico opened the door to Cuba’s house, and swayed slightly. He had a little too much to drink, and Cuba had meant to stop him sooner. He had ordered a few too many shots, and no one else was going to cut him off.  
  
Cuba put one hand on Mexico’s shoulder to steady him. Mexico turned around and gave him the warmest smile which made Cuba’s heart start pounding.  
  
Mexico managed not to stumble on the threshold, which seemed to be some feat of strength. Certain that Mexico would hardly mind, Cuba dared to put one hand on Mexico’s waist and to steer him to the bed. He needed to sleep off his binge, and there was no better place to do it.  
  
Mexico flashed him another soft smile and said, “You’re so sweet.” He reached up and drunkenly stroked Cuba’s face. Cuba was tempted to kiss Mexico, just once softly. But, he had firm standards about not pushing any boundaries while Mexico was drunk.  
  
He sat next to Mexico on the bed and said, “Is there anything else you need before you go to sleep?” Mexico reached out and stroked his arm, and said, “I’m cold. Give me your sweatshirt.”  
  
Cuba chuckled and responded, “I have plenty of blankets.” Mexico stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout that Cuba found a little too familiar. He knew how Mexico was when he wanted his way; it had been the same since they were boys.  
Mexico repeated, “Please give me your sweatshirt.” Cuba sighed and took off the garment and gave it to Mexico.  
______________________________________________  
  
Cuba knocked on his best friend’s door, and hoped that Mexico would be home and completely clothed. This visit had been unplanned, but Cuba had been close by and he wanted to take the chance to see Mexico. But, he knew that Mexico wasn’t always prepared to have people visit. He sometimes had the tendency to wander around his own house in as little clothing as he possibly could.  
  
Cuba hoped that it would not be the case this time, because it was the middle of winder and there was a chill in the air. Mexico had never been one to suffer even the slightest cold.  
As the door opened, Cuba saw that he was right about his friend’s aversion to the cold. Mexico was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and pants. His hands were tucked resolutely into the pocket of the sweatshirt.  
  
Cuba said, “May I come in?” Mexico looked up at him and responded, “Of course you can. You are always welcome.”  
  
Cuba followed him into the house and found a familiar seat on one of the many pieces of furniture. He knew what would happen and he left space next to him. Mexico almost immediately sat next to him and started curling up against him. Mexico could be so much like an adorable house cat sometimes, and there was something so sweet about seeing how he looked when he had not been expecting anyone to see him.  
  
He was wearing his long hair in a messy bun, and his clothing was surely meant to be comfortable. Mexico said, his head against Cuba’s shoulder, “This is such a nice surprise.”  
Cuba looked at him, and then stared at him for a moment longer. The sweatshirt he was wearing was familiar. Cuba finally said, “Is that my sweatshirt?”

Mexico looked up at him with a mischievous smile, and said, “You caught me.”  
  
There was absolutely no regret in his face, and Cuba had not really expected any. He replied, “Did you steal that?”Mexico gasped in a faux shock and said, “You gave it to me!”  
Cuba put his arm around his friend and said, “The way I remember it, you asked for it, and you were too cute for me to say no.”  
  
Mexico smiled at the compliment, the sort of smile that reminded Cuba how cunning he was, even in these little things. He had known what he was doing when he asked for the sweatshirt. But, he didn’t respond. He just smiled knowingly.  
  
Cuba said, “Is my sweatshirt ever going to be returned?” Mexico replied, looking down at the sweatshirt, “If you want it back, I can give it to you.”  
  
Cuba heard the word “but…” in Mexico’s voice before he even spoke. He was not surprised when Mexico pulled his head into the sweatshirt a little and said, “But, I like it so much. It’s so warm, and it smells like you, so it is like you are here even when you aren’t.”  
  
He pulled the sweatshirt up over his nose, and Cuba couldn’t help but smile. Mexico looked so cute wrapped up in the big sweatshirt, and there was no harm in leaving it with him. His reason also made Cuba adore him even more; he was such a sweetheart beneath the facade that everyone knew. He said, “You can keep it, Ale. I don’t mind.”

* * *

  
Mexico flopped down face first on his own couch with a long sigh. He had spent far too long at a diplomatic meeting for North America, and it had weighed on his very last frayed nerve.  
His boss had felt the need before to tell him that he needed to be polite to America, no matter what he personally felt for America. It had been terrible to spend so long in a conference room with America staring at him. America always gave him the same stupid look when he thought he was about to charm him back into his bed. It made Mexico want to punch him right in his perfect face.  
  
Without moving from where his face was pressed against the pillow, he blindly untied his tie. He wouldn’t have usually worn one, but there had been photo opportunities. He pulled it off and threw it away from himself, not caring where it was going to land. He said, still speaking into the pillow, “I hate suits.”  
He heard Cuba’s voice, “Bad day?”  
  
Cuba had been at his house all afternoon watching the dogs, and he was sitting on one of the armchairs. Mexico turned his head on the pillow so that he was looking at Cuba. He felt completely exhausted from restraining himself all day, but he could still appreciate how sweet it was to see one of his tiny dogs on Cuba’s big lap. He recognized that the dog was the smallest of the five, making the size difference even more apparent.  
  
He said, in response to the question, “I had to spend the whole day with Alfred.” Cuba looked concerned as he said, giving the dog a pet, “Did he try anything with you?”  
Mexico responded, still refusing to move from the spot on the couch, “No, but he was completely insufferable. I think if I had given him the chance, he would have cornered me and demanded answers about why I am ignoring him. But, I’m not that stupid.”  
  
Cuba nodded, and seemed to be thinking for a moment. Then he said, “Emergency plans are in order.” Mexico finally moved enough to turn himself over onto his back.  
He said, “I don’t think I have the energy to go out anywhere.” He would love to go out dancing or to the beach like they often did, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to even get up. But, he wanted to have some sort of solace after the day he had endured.  
  
Cuba stood up and said, “We don’t have to go anywhere. I can make the night good right here.” He held the little dog up and said, “Hercules, give your dad kisses. I’m going to set something up in the other room.”  
  
He placed the dog down on Mexico’s chest. The dog walked up to Mexico’s face and started licking him. Mexico laughed and reached up to pet the wiggling dog. He could feel the tiny dog shaking from excitement.  
  
He was curious what Cuba could possibly be preparing in the other room, but he trusted him enough to wait for whatever was coming. It made him feel better to have a happy dog on his chest.  
He slowly sat up and made sure to keep the dog securely in his arms. He looked around just as Cuba came back into the room. He smiled at Mexico and said, “It’s ready.”  
  
Mexico nodded, and followed Cuba into the next room. He smiled when he saw that Cuba had set up a table full of snacks and had draped the couch with blankets.  
  
Cuba put one arm around Mexico’s shoulders and steered him towards the couch. Once there, he wrapped one of the blankets around Mexico’s shoulders and eased him to sit down.  
Mexico gladly let himself be guided to sit against Cuba. He let out a sigh and cuddled against his friend’s shoulder with a contented sigh. Only once there, did he realize that Cuba had a romance movie already set up on the television.  
  
Mexico felt himself smile. Only his best friend knew how much he enjoyed a shallow romantic comedy. It would certainly make him feel better to have something soft and sweet to watch.  
Cuba said, keeping his arm around him, “Are you comfortable?” Mexico replied, “Yes, this is very nice.” Cuba kissed him on the forehead and said, “I think that it needs one more thing.”  
  
He then whistled, which was followed by the unmistakable sound of four more little sets of paws. Cuba reached down and scooped one dog after another onto the couch to be closer to Mexico.  
Mexico smiled even wider and said, “These are very good emergency plans.” He saw a look of pride on Cuba’s face. Mexico cuddled up with the person who knew him best and his dear pets and prepared to have a thoroughly relaxing night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in a future where they are dating. It is also more explicit than the previous drabbles

“Are you sure you are ready for this?” Cuba was standing in the kitchen staring at Mexico, who had just spoken the words that he was still not completely prepared to hear.   
  
When they had started dating a few weeks earlier, he had promised that the sex could wait until Mexico was comfortable. Cuba refused to be another man who took him to bed first and then started acting like he owned him. They had been friends for so long, and he had seen those kinds of men come and go more than once. He was not going to be another one.  
  
They had been out for a long night of dancing, and during one of the slow songs, Mexico had gotten very close and said in his ear, “I am ready to feel what it is like to be with you.”  
  
The sentence had been repeating in his head as they had returned home. It felt like something out of his dreams, though he could say the same for the past couple weeks. He had never thought his crush on his childhood best friend would come to fruition.   
  
When they had come home, he asked that question. Mexico answered calmly, “Yes, I am sure. I want you tonight.”  
  
Cuba realized that he must have looked slightly shocked, but he was not certain what to do next. He had thought of this moment so often, but never considered that he might freeze when actually faced with it. The long years of thinking of it had left him so unaware of how he should proceed.   
  
Mexico seemed to notice the look on his face, and he walked over. He said, “Aw, Carlos. I am completely serious.” He stroked Cuba’s cheek with both hands, and the feeling sent a pleasant warm buzz across Cuba’s face. He loved the rough callouses across the palms of Mexico’s hands. The years of fighting had left their marks, but Cuba liked how rough they felt.   
Mexico used his hands to guide Cuba’s face to his own and connected their lips. It was light at first, but Mexico deepened it the longer their lips remained together. His lips parted, inviting Cuba to slip his tongue inside.   
  
The little gesture broke Cuba out of his disbelief. Mexico was opening himself up to him, and he was taking the time to doubt himself. It felt like he was wasting his time when an opportunity was right in front of him. As he pressed his tongue into his boyfriend’s mouth.   
  
Mexico let him do it gladly, and made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat. Cuba felt pleasantly warm all over. He had still not completely adjusted to how good it felt to be able to hold and kiss Mexico. It made him feel high. He didn’t want to separate from each other, even to breath.   
  
But, he had to let Mexico breath, so he pulled away, but he didn’t let go of him. After two deep breaths, he said, “Ale, please make me a promise.”   
  
He stroked a piece of Mexico’s long black hair behind his hair. His gold eyes seemed to be begging Cuba to continue, but he would not do that until they had agreement. He continued, “Promise me that if you are hurt, you will tell me. If you are uncomfortable, tell me.”Mexico took a deep breath like he was centering himself.   
Then he said, “I will. I promise.”   
  
Cuba nodded, comforted that he would not unwittingly hurt his boyfriend. He took Mexico’s hand, and led him towards the bedroom. His heart was beating against his sternum furiously, but he tried not to listen to it. He didn’t need to be so nervous when he was finally getting what he had craved for years. It would be bad to be too eager, because he might hurt Mexico, who was smaller than him.   
  
They reached the bedroom, and he began to feel nervous in spite of his best efforts. He had only been with other men a handful of times, and though he remembered all the steps, it was daunting to think of doing it with Mexico.   
  
He pulled Mexico into another eager kiss while he fumbled with the buttons of his own shirt. He passingly thought that if he had known this would happen, he would have worn something less troublesome. Frustrated, he broke out of the kiss to look down and finish with his buttons and threw off the shirt.   
  
Mexico pulled off his own t-shirt and tossed it across the room with complete disregard for where it landed. Then, while Cuba fumbled with his own belt, Mexico stripped off his remaining clothing.   
  
Cuba managed to do the same only by not looking at his boyfriend, whose naked body would undoubtedly be very distracting. Once he was completely finished, he looked up at Mexico and felt himself start blushing.   
  
He had imagined how incredible Mexico would look completely unclothed, but the reality proved even better than that. He said, “You are beautiful.” Mexico smiled and said, “And I am all yours.”   
  
He closed the distance between them again and gently took Cuba by the shoulders and kissed him again. Cuba was so lost in the feeling of Mexico’s lips on his that he barely noticed that Mexico had brought him to the bed and urged him to sit. Cuba did so, expecting Mexico to sit on his lap.   
  
The smaller man did exactly that. Cuba started to pepper his neck with kisses. He wanted Mexico to know how much he loved him, every inch of him. But, every second of Mexico being so conspicuously on his lap was making him harder. It was almost painful how much he wished he could rush this, and know what all of his fantasies would feel like.   
  
He said in Mexico’s ear, “Ale, there is a bottle of lubricant in the drawer. Can you get it for me?” This may have not been the most romantic or graceful way to ask, but he knew it was genuine. Mexico replied with a coy smile, “Of course.”   
  
He seemed to know exactly what piece of furniture Cuba was referring to. He found the bottle and turned back to Cuba without actually leaving his lap. He looked at the bottle in his hand and said, “Unopened? You aren’t doing much in this bedroom, are you?”   
  
Cuba might have thought of it as a judgement if he did not know the man well enough to know it was just a joke. But, he replied in earnest, “I was waiting for you.”   
  
Mexico blushed and the look on his face was adorable. He passed the bottle to Cuba, who opened it and applied it to his fingers. Mexico asked, “Do you know what to do? I can do it myself if you want.” Cuba laid a quick kiss on his jawline and said, “Don’t worry. I want to do this with you.”  
  
Mexico nodded and put his hands on Cuba’s shoulders and pulled himself up so he was on his knees. Cuba took a deep breath and slowly inserted his finger. He heard Mexico’s breath hitch. He said, “Ale, are you alright?”   
  
Mexico’s face was right next to his ear, so he could hear the quaver in Mexico’s voice as he said, “It’s good. Your finger is quite thick.”  
  
Using his free hand, Cuba rubbed his back to comfort him. He took this to be a good thing, so he inserted another finger. Mexico groaned in his ear, but he didn’t sound like he was in any pain.   
  
The way that he was squirming on Cuba’s lap was driving him wild. He wanted to be buried deep in his boyfriend, but he was being careful.   
With the insertion of the last finger, he could hardly wait much longer. Cuba asked, “Are you ready?” Mexico nodded and said, in a exquisite whine in his voice, “Please do it.”   
  
Cuba nodded, and decided to do the one thing he had wanted to for so long. He put both of his hands around Mexico’s waist, where they fit so easily. He gently guided Mexico’s body down onto his own erection. He went slowly, because he did not want to hurt him.   
  
Mexico moaned in his ear pleasingly, but the feeling of Mexico’s nails digging into his shoulders made him pause. It was agony for him to wait, but it was about Mexico just as much as it was about him. If he went too fast, he might hurt him, and that was the last thing he wanted.  
  
He said, “Does that hurt?” Mexico’s voice was shaky, but still clearly attempting to be firm as he said, “No. Keep going, keep going.”  
  
Cuba obliged him, and slowly and carefully. Mexico let out breathy moans until Cuba was completely inside of him. It was taking all of Cuba’s will power not to grab him and pound him hard.  
Mexico said breathlessly, “You feel so good.” Cuba rubbed his back again, making sure that the shaking voice was not a sign of discomfort. He said, “I won’t move until you say so.”   
  
There was a long minute of silence, where Cuba tried to be patient despite his own lust. Then, Mexico said, “You can move now.”  
  
The words were golden to Cuba. He felt himself let go just a little more. Mexico was not made of glass and he had promised that he would be clear when he was hurt.   
He tightened his hands on Mexico’s slim waist. He could almost fit both of his hands all the way around it if he tried.   
  
Slowly, he urged Mexico up again. He felt the smaller man pressing up on his shoulders, so they were in agreement about what to do next without even needing to say it.  
  
At the upper part of the stroke, Mexico left a sloppy kiss on his temple, which Cuba took as encouragement. He pulled Mexico back down in one long thrust that set his whole body singing. It felt like they fit together perfectly, and Cuba felt like it had meant to be this way for so long.   
  
He could feel himself gasping for breath as Mexico nuzzled against his neck. Cuba could feel his lips lightly against his neck. Without Cuba having the pull him up, Mexico rose up and lowered himself down again, using the same slow pace that Cuba had started with. As he did, he moaned long and low.   
  
As he did it again, Cuba was able to match the movement of his hands with the movement of Mexico’s hips. It was easy to find a slow, easy rhythm that felt right for both of them.   
Cuba spoke in short, breathy bursts, saying the words that he had wanted to say for so many years, “I love you so much.”  
  
He saw a smile flit over Mexico’s face before a particularly well-placed thrust made him close his eyes and moan as he threw his head back. Cuba left kisses all over his exposed neck. He stopped at the base of his neck and started to suck carefully on the skin.   
  
He felt Mexico cling to him even more firmly and Cuba quickened his pace. It was still not as fast as he could go, but it felt perfect. Mexico replied, sounding like he was struggling to find words between his beautiful moans, “I adore you.”  
  
There was something so beautiful about knowing that he could render ever vocal Mexico almost speechless. Though, Mexico’s vocal cords were being well used.   
  
Cuba considered kissing him on the lips again, but it would silence the wonderful noises he was making. He couldn’t stand the thought of the musical, rhythmic moans stopping. Mexico had the most beautiful voice, especially when it was straining like this.   
  
Cuba wished he could continue to have Mexico this close forever, but he could also feel that his own end coming. He could not resist with Mexico moving up and down on his lap. He said, “Ale, I’m close.”   
  
Mexico took his hands off his shoulders and buried them in Cuba’s dreadlocks. He pulled himself back up, and said, “Go ahead.”   
  
Mexico thrust back down more quickly than he had all night, and it was enough to finish Cuba off. It only took one quick stroke of Cuba’s hand for Mexico to follow suit.   
  
Mexico then leaned heavily against Cuba’s torso, wrapping his arms around his shoulders like he was completely exhausted.  
  
Cuba could swear that he could feel a slight quiver in those strong arms. He did hope that he had not ended up hurting him after all of his precautions.   
  
He put his arms around Mexico’s slim body and carefully picked him up and moved him so that he was nestled in the pillows at the head of the bed. He laid next to Mexico and looked directly into his golden eyes.   
  
The eyes looked happy, but he could see that Mexico’s shoulder was shaking slightly. He said, running the back of his hand over the skin of the shoulder, “Are you alright, Ale? You’re trembling.”   
  
Mexico took a deep breath and said, “I’m very good. You are so good and so gentle.” His shoulder shook a little more and he cuddled closer to Cuba, right up against his chest. He continued, “No one treats me this way.”  
  
Then it was perfectly clear to Cuba. Mexico was reacting this way because he had gotten too used to the kind of exploitative man who just used his body. Now he was overwhelmed by the idea that someone could really be that good to him.   
  
Cuba said gently, “Come here.” He pulled Mexico into a hug, and felt the tension leave the smaller man’s body. He said, still holding on tightly, “I have loved you my whole life.”   
Mexico looked directly at him, barely an inch between their faces. His golden eyes were so full of the kind of vulnerability Cuba doubted anyone else was ever allowed to see. Mexico said, “I love you, too. I was just scared that I was going to fuck this up, because you are the best thing I have ever had.”  
  
Cuba wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he was not going to abandon him, no matter what. But he had a better idea. He said, holding Mexico close, “I promise you that I am going to be good to you. I am not going to hurt you and I am not going to abandon you.”  
  
He finished it with a kiss to Mexico’s forehead. Mexico seemed to take a moment to collect himself before he replied, “I know you will keep that promise because you are a good man. You’re the best I have ever met.”   
  
He paused and said, “I looked so long for love and I didn’t realize that you’ve always been right in front of me. Thank you for waiting for me.”  
  
Cuba could almost feel happy tears welling in his eyes at the confession. He had wanted this for so long, and it still didn’t feel quite real that it was happening. He was the happiest he had ever been with the man he loved in his arms. He would ensure that things were able to stay this way now that he had finally found his happiness.   
  
Cuba brushed back his sweaty hair and replied, “And I am not going anywhere.”


End file.
